


a crown of winter; a crown of death

by Sighned_Anonymous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Alysanne is raised in the North, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Female Jon, Female Jon Snow, Friendship, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hades and Persephone retelling, Incest, Kidnapping, Lyanna is dead, R Plus L Equals J, Romance?, Sisterhood, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-02-10 17:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18665341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sighned_Anonymous/pseuds/Sighned_Anonymous
Summary: It seemed kismet that a song of ice and fire should love in spring and die in fall.ORHades and Persephone reimagined.





	1. Winter | Spring

**Author's Note:**

> The timing was absolutely perfect.

Alysanne has met her brother Aegon but once. When she was young – before Queen Elia had demanded that her father send Alysanne from King’s Landing. And thus the mother-less Princess has lived her whole life in the frozen tundra of the Northernmost territory of the Seven Kingdoms. At Winterfell, Alysanne is taken care of by her uncle Eddard, her aunt, Catelyn, and her cousins, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon.

She and Arya have adventures in the Wolfswood, and listen in awe at Old Nan’s stories of how the Old Gods came to be. Sansa pays little mind to Arya, but is eager to find things in common with Alysanne, which frustrates Arya to no end.

“Do you think you might have a loving husband?” Sansa says hopefully, “You are so lucky you of marrying age.”

Alysanne frowns. She does not _feel_ lucky. Her father was meant to make a match for her, and he wrote to her but once a year on her nameday without a single mention of a suitor at all. She would prefer to stay North, to have a marriage with a husband her Uncle has chosen. After all, the Quiet Wolf is nearly her father. Truly he is her father in all but name.

“I cannot say,” Alysanne replies, “All I know is that it will _not_ be a squid.”

Arya snorts and Bran chortles at the dig, both aware of Theon Greyjoy’s many dalliances with women of all sorts.

Winter is in full force, but Alysanne knows it is nothing compared to the brutal winters that Old Nan has told them of. Before Alysanne had been born, the winters could last years, and the Northerners would starve no matter how many provisions they stored underneath Winterfell. But the Northerners were a hardy folk, tougher than their Southern brothers, the Starks most of all. After all, their words were Winter is Coming.

Now however, the whole of westeros experienced the seasons in equality. They enjoyed summer, winter, and the seasons between. Currently, winter was leaving. Old Nan believed that autumn would last only two more turns and soon they would have heavy winter snows with ice sharp days.

“Might you marry a Karstark?” Sansa asks, “Father says he hopes to keep you close. I hope you are close too.”

Alysanne smiles and holds her younger cousin closer, “I hope that for us as well. I would miss you all ever so much if I had to leave.”

Sansa is naïve, but she knows that if King Rhaegar makes a southern marriage for his youngest daughter, then she will never come north again. Her head is full of dreams and songs and knights. There is nothing _wrong_ with that, but Alysanne knows that Sansa, as southron as she wishes to be, knows little of Southern ambitions.

“I hope they do not send you to Dorne,” Arya says morosely, “It’s _too far_.”

“Why Dorne?” Alysanne questions then narrows her eyes, “Have you been eavesdropping again, Arya Underfoot?”

“No! Well, sort of. Only when father gets ravens from that funny looking one with the white feather. He always seems even more angry after.”

“Tell me you haven’t been snooping through Lord Stark’s correspondence?”

“I haven’t! I swear on… uh… I swear on Winterfell!”

“Alright, I believe you. I wouldn’t mind Dorne, but it is far. I would rather be closer.”

Sansa smiles eagerly, “Perhaps if you are not married to a Karstark cousin then you will marry in the riverlands.”

“Not to a Frey,” Robb says gruffly, “Perhaps to a Tully. Uncle Edmure is unmarried.”

“He’s much too old,” Sansa sniffs, “Alysanne is a Princess. She deserves a dashing prince. Or perhaps a knight, like in the songs.”

“Boys are stupid,” Arya chimes much to Bran’s insult.

“Stop it you two,” Alysanne says before the two begin to bicker as they often do, “I will not be marrying anyone soon. Let’s not speak of it.”

Sansa’s starry look fades and then she yanks on Alysanne’s sleeve, “Can we embroider? Mother says there are new fabrics for us to choose from.”

Arya begins to moan until Alysanne promises to join her for an activity she enjoys more later.

She hopes to never leave the North. It is her home. Her family is here. They may not have her name, but they have her blood and to her, they are family all the same.

* * *

The north is cold, but the fire in her blood keeps her warm. The furs over her shoulders frame her rosy cheeks. There is snow and there is splendor, but sometimes, Alysanne dreams of sand. She dreams of stone and fire and sun and warmth.

Perhaps the south is not too bad. Perhaps she would be happy beyond the Neck. Her uncle Ned would never allow it, though. Sansa is right that Ned hopes to keep Alysanne close. She may not be his daughter but Eddard Stark dotes upon Alysanne as though she is his pride and joy. He may never let her go south again.

She thinks this far too soon because days later her father announces that the Starks will visit the South for a tourney in a missive that irritates Uncle Ned to no end. Alysanne is positively baffled by this. Her uncle has no interest in tourneys, and even less interest in Southron politicking. A tourney is a show of frivolity and the North has no use for wastefulness.

Robb tells her that the King has demanded they all go – and Alysanne’s heart shrivels. Why force her from the North when she was sent there in the first place? What use does her father have by forcing her South when they are nearly unrelated? Afterall, Alysanne is not a _true_ Targaryen. Her family had not even bothered to invite her to Rhaenys’ wedding to Willas Tyrell. Alysanne was barely a Targaryen, and yet she had the name and could be used as a bridal pawn.

* * *

The wheelhouse is packed, and Sansa braids her hair as intricately as possible, excited by the prospect of making a southern match. They play games, and Sansa plays the harp as Alysanne sings sorrowful songs of Bael the Bard. The days are barely growing longer, but soon the weather will change.

The journey South is agonizingly slow. It takes hours each day to make progress south. There are so few hours of day, and such a fear of brigands that they leave before the sun and make camp just after the moon rises. Rickon and Catelyn stay at Winterfell with Robb. Only Sansa, Arya, and Bran join Alysanne and Ned. They’re accompanied by a retinue of course, including Alysanne’s ladies-in-waiting, chosen by the Lord of Winterfell. They’re all Northern daughters, used to the harsh winter and the Old Ways. Wynafryd Manderly of White Harbour, Alys Karstark of Karhold, Lyra Mormont of Bear Island, and Myha Magnar of Kingshouse share Alysanne’s tent each night, sleeping soundly as the wind howls across the snowy terrain.

Alysanne can tell when the South becomes closer. The air is sticky, the breeze weaker. The wind is not as sharp, and the air has a dewy mist rather than a fine crystal of frozen water. Further south they go until they reach a swampy area that Alysanne knows from the infamous song of the Knight of the Laughing Tree – the song of her mother’s ploy to save Lord Howland Reed, a Crannogman of the Neck. By the time they reach the Neck, the weather has become humid, and Alysanne’s white gold hair is the only crown in the wheelhouse that is resisting the effects of the South.

“It’s too hot,” Arya moans as she fans herself.

“We haven’t even hit the South yet,” Bran says in tandem, “This is truly terrible.”

Alysanne smiles and fans Arya softly with a silk fan that had been one of the few gifts she had received from her father. She hadn’t had much use for it until now.

“We’ve a ways to go, yet,” Alyssane says, “The tourney is in Duskendale.”

“An odd choice,” her uncle murmurs, but he is mostly ignored.

“I am glad that we left in time to visit Maidenpool,” says Sansa, “Even if it is a bit out of the way.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Maidenpool,” replies Wynafryd pleasantly, “It’s supposed to be quite lovely.”

“It seems stupid,” Arya mumbles but quiets when Myha gives her a measured look. While Arya has little patience for Sansa and Jeyne Poole’s chattering about, all of Alysanne’s ladies have earned her respect, one way or another.

The journey lasts far too long. A turn passes and they have finally reached Maidenpool, where they will stop to replenish supplies before they continue on to Duskendale.

* * *

 

“This is so boring,” Arya complains as they arrive at the healing waters of Maidenpool, “I don’t want to go to a stupid healing spring with stupid Sansa.”

Alysanne ignores her, considering what happened to her namesake in the very place she stands.

Sansa rushes in, still graceful and without a hair out of place, “I overheard a guard say there are brigands nearby!”

Arya looks up with excitement from where she is leaning in the pool, perhaps thinking of the small sword that Robb had snuck her before their journey south.

“This is no game, Arya,” Alysanne scolds, “I would never want any of our guards’ bones sent home because brigands attacked us here.”

Arya has the decency to look slightly guilty but Alysanne is only half aware. Sansa looks near green now, perhaps realizing that brigands could be a true danger, and that they are sitting in a precarious position. It’s quiet – which leads Alysanne to believe that the brigands were stopped before they could cause any real trouble. She leans back into the steaming waters until she hears a loud crack and then undiscernible shouts.

Alysanne stands from the water abruptly. There are guards outside, surely, but Alysanne believes in caring for her younger cousins, who are like sisters to her. She throws on a robe and begins to frantically inspect the bath room for a place to hide.

The space is bare, with only a single alcove that Alysanne thinks might be the only place to hide. Hearing the shouts come closer, Alysanne pulls Arya from the water and shakes Sansa from her terrified stupor.

Arya isn’t nearly as nervous as Sansa, but Alysanne ferries the two of them into the only hiding place she spotted earlier. It’s not nearly as deep as she thought. There’s enough for Sansa’s willowy frame and Arya’s petite body. The chance of Alysanne fitting beside her younger cousins, however, is slim. They would certainly be spotted.

“But what about you?” Sansa cries just as Arya begins to complain in tandem, “What if-”

A door crashes down and Alysanne silences them both and thinks as quickly as she can. A princess would be an excellent hostage she knows – whether her father cares for her or not, he would never allow brigands to keep her, no matter the gold dragons they might demand. At the same time, House Targaryen has enemies, and if these men are enemies of her family, then there may be nothing left of her to hold hostage.

This is a gamble she is forced to make. This is how Alysanne is standing directly in front of the door where the ruckus has become louder. This is how Alysanne waits, glaring her cousins into silence.

It’s deathly silent. The door slams open, and suddenly all Alysanne can see is black.

* * *

When Alysanne comes to, she is in a room with near black stone walls filled with finery. The covers that slide across her skin are softer than the utilitarian wool and furs of the north. There are books, flowers, and all manner of decorations. This room is a place of beauty, and of pain.

The air tastes different, with a strong odor she can’t describe but doesn’t like. She sits up and spots wine but doesn’t dare to take a sip - _poison-_.

A knock startles her and unfamiliar blue eyes meet her own.

“Hullo, Your Grace. It’s a pleasure to you awake. Shall I-”

“Who are you?” Alysanne demands, “Where am I!”

“Your Grace-” the girl begins but Alysanne stands up angrily.

“You will let me go home at once!”

“I-”

“Alysanne?” a voice calls and she turns her head as the maid scurries to bow and back away before dashing from the room. It’s as unfamiliar as the maid’s eyes, as unfamiliar as this place.

“Must you scare the maids away already?” the voice says and suddenly Alysanne can place him.

Silver-white hair falling around his shoulders, violet eyes, a tall build with lean muscles and a nose she has seen in the looking glass. _This must be Viserys Targaryen_.

“Viserys?” Alysanne questions hollowly causing the man to laugh.

“You’ve been gone too long, _sister_.”

Alysanne blinks owlishly, “Your Grace-”

“Aegon,” he says, “You should say my name. We are family, after all.”

Alysanne shifts uneasily, “Why- where am I?”

“I am sorry about that,” Aegon replies with a grimace, “When I sent the guards to retrieve you, they clearly misunderstood my intentions towards you. They’ve been dealt with.”

Alysanne still doesn’t understand.

“Where am I?” she asks again, a bit more forcefully than before.

“Dragonstone,” Aegon replies as he pours himself wine, “The home of our ancestors.”

 _This makes no sense_.

“Why am I here?” Alysanne asks, “Where is my uncle?”

“Viserys is on Driftmark.” He pauses but briefly, “You are here for your wedding, dear sister.”

Alysanne’s mouth goes dry as she processes this new information. But she cannot. “To whom? Viserys?”

Aegon pulls a dry smile and then begins walking closer.

Alysanne takes a step back.

“You must enjoy jesting, sister. Not _Viserys_. To me, Alysanne.”

And to this, she begins to scramble, “But father-”

“Approves,” Aegon says, “After all, he was the one who summoned the North to the tourney.”

She shouldn’t feel betrayed, because truly her family is only her family in name. But hearing his words Alysanne’s eyes begin to moisten. Is she truly worth so little that her father would not even tell her of her own betrothal?

At her silence, Aegon’s brows knit together, “You must have known, Alysanne. This betrothal has been set since you first bled.”

Alysanne cries out in shock, “Three years? I- no one ever told me-”

Aegon moves closer again and this time the shock has stopped Alysanne in her tracks.

“I told you,” Aegon replies patiently, “In the letters I sent each turn.”

Alysanne cranes her neck with her eyes wide, “I received no such letter. I’ve never received _any_ letters from anyone,” she continues, voice rising in irritation, “except for the one a year from father. Because you all abandoned me in the North so you wouldn’t have to see my face!” At this she plops onto the bed unladylike, fists balled at her sides angrily.

Aegon is silent now, but Alysanne can feel the tension in the room. She thinks he might leave her to her misery until he kneels beside her.

“Alysanne, I wrote you every chance I could. I never wanted mother to send you away. Daenerys and I believed you had no interest in the south – that that was the reason you never replied to our letters.” He looks frightfully unhappy, gloomy almost. Not serious like her Uncle Ned, but melancholy, the way she is told her father looks each day.

“I thought you all hated me,” she finally whispers and then feels tight arms around her back.

“The only person who wanted you gone was mother.”

“But father let her send me away-” Alysanne argues.

“Because Dorne threatened war if you were not sent away, and your Uncle demanded you be sent to him after what happened with your mother.”

What happened to her mother is a taboo topic across the Seven Kingdoms. Her parents had run away together, married in secret without Elia’s knowledge or consent. Her mother had begotten her and then had died in childbirth in the Tower of Joy where Uncle Ned had found her just after Robert’s forces lost the war.

Ned had taken her to King’s Landing to Rheagar and Elia had demanded she leave at once. And thus Alysanne had never met her Uncle Viserys or Aunt Daenerys, had never truly met Aegon and Rhaenys.

“You’ll be happy here,” Aegon says pensively, “You’ll never want for anything, sister. I swear it.”

_I already want for something. My family._

* * *

 

The days cycle even as the air grows warmer.

Each morning Aegon asks for Alysanne to present herself for breakfast.

She refuses.

He calls upon her for lunch.

Yet again she refuses.

For some reason, he still asks her to join him for dinner, knowing once again that Alysanne would politely decline.

She barely leaves her chambers, sat in front of the window watching the horizon for the day her Uncle would cross the sea to retrieve her.

A knock startles her from her deep thought.

“Alysanne?” the voice says and Alysanne wonders if it is already time for her to deny her brother her presence again.

“I have a gift for you,” Aegon continues, “Would you not look upon me?”

Alysanne blinks and then looks his way to see the splendor in his hand.

“It is not truly a gift,” Aegon says as he walks closer, “It should have been yours this whole time. It is tradition, after all.” He places a green and gold egg with shining scales that is warm to the touch in her hands.

“It’s warm,” Alysanne blurts before forgetting she has ignored this Prince for so long.

“Only to you,” Aegon replies with a small smile, “Perhaps it will hatch. Perhaps you will ride.”

The silence is not as oppressive as it once was, and so Aegon sits beside her on the small settee before him. “Daenerys will arrive this evening. She looks forward to meeting you.”

This news does not truly excite Alysanne.

“Your ladies have arrived as well.”

Alysanne sits up straighter, engaged at the prospect of seeing her Northern friends again, “Alys, Wynafryd, and-”

“No,” Aegon interjects, “These are ladies of the South, loyal to our family and they are eager to befriend you.”

“You mean to spy on me,” Alysanne says, standing in annoyance and moving away.

“No,” Aegon soothes, “So you might have female companionship. They will be your friends, your bedmates, or anything else you need. I know you miss your friends, but they are in the North and you are here.”

“Because you abducted me-”

“We are betrothed, Alysanne,” Aegon says exasperated, “I am truly sorry you were not properly informed but I-” he bites his tongue and stands, walking sharply to the door, “We are to marry, Alysanne. Please, do try not to hate me so.”

Hours later, Alysanne is introduced to the girls who Aegon seems to believe will replace her best friends, girls who have been her ladies since she began her lessons.

She hates to admit it but they’re surprisingly sweet. _They are spies_ , she reminds herself. Daenaera Velaryon is the oldest of them at a year older than Alysanne, with amethyst eyes and wavy white blonde hair. Elissa Sunglass has the violet eyes of Valyria but with dark hair, bred true from marriage with the First Men and the Daynes of Starfall. Jeyne Bar Emmon is dark hair and light eyed, with the pale features of the First Men and high cheekbones that perhaps came from a Velaryon or a Celtigar. Elissa and Jeyne are the same age as Sansa, but they seem to be women grown. Alarra Celtigar is the youngest, of an age with Arya, with the same Valyrian looks present in Daenaera’s features. Alysanne knows that Aegon has hand-picked these ladies, all loyal to the Crown, all daughters of houses that swear fealty to Dragonstone, that swear fealty to _him_.

“Shall we work on your maiden cloak, Your Grace?” Daenaera asks politely, “And perhaps your wedding gown?”

“There’s no need,” Alysanne says, “I would prefer to work on a blanket.”

“Winter is near over, Your Grace,” replies Jeyne cautiously, “Should you have use for a blanket now?”

“I will when I return north,” Alysanne intones to the girls, who all exchange glances but agree to help her sew and embroider a new blanket.

“Congratulations, Daenaera,” Elissa chirps suddenly, “I had heard that your betrothal to Prince Viserys had been sealed.”

Daenaera smiles widely, “You have heard true. His Grace and I shall marry soon after Her Grace Princess Alysanne and His Grace Prince Aegon.”

Alysanne’s eye twitches, which Alarra notices, “Whatever is the matter, Your Grace?”

“Alysanne,” she corrects and then pauses, “No one calls me Your Grace.”

Jeyne pauses, “Of course, Alysanne.”

“We are _friends_ after all,” Alysanne continues, to which the girls nod imperiously.

Alysanne hates to admit it, because she knows they are spies for Aegon, but she likes her ladies, even if it upsets her that Aegon picked perfect companions.

* * *

 

It is late. The air is cloying now, as spring has set in and winter is but a memory. The sea calls to Alysanne, but she is not to leave without a guard to protect her.

“Ser Jaime,” she finally says, knowing the knight is at her door.

“Your Grace?” he questions.

“I wish to go to the port.”

Jaime hesitates but eventually continues, “I will inform His Grace, for he would also desire to go.”

“ _Alone_ ,” Alysanne says sternly.

Jaime looks uncowed, “I will inform His Grace.” He turns to a servant who nods and rushes off.

Alysanne sits petulantly in the chair at her window, annoyed that she cannot do anything without being under the thumb of her brother.

“Alysanne?” Aegon questions, “Shall we depart?”

“I have decided I am under the weather.” Alysanne isn’t sure but aside from the sigh that leaves Aegon’s lips, she thinks she hears a short snicker from Ser Jaime.

Aegon folds his arms, “It seems you are often under the weather.”

“It seems so,” Alysanne says, refusing to look at Aegon.

“Could you not at least bring Daenerys? She longs to see you.”

“I told you already,” Alysanne replies unblinking, “I am under the weather.”

Aegon sighs resignedly, “Alysanne, please. We cannot go on like this forever. We shall marry soon, and we have the blessing of our family.”

“ _We_ ,” Alysanne corrects, “Have nothing. _You_ took me and you are _lying-_ ”

At this Aegon looks indigant, “I have not lied to you, Alysanne, ever.”

“About the letters,” Alysanne fumes, “You have written no such letters to me-”

“I wrote you every turn,” Aegon insists, “ _You_ did not write me back.”

“Uncle Ned said I never had any letters!” Alysanne argues as Aegon frowns, “It is of no consequence. I am under the weather and cannot stand company. Good day, Your Grace.”

Aegon sighs again and then says a quiet farewell before leaving morosely.

But Alysanne cannot muster any pity for the Prince of Dragonstone.

 _He took me_.

* * *

 

“I have already said that I _do not know_.”

“ _Lies!_ ” Umber hissed.

“Have care how you speak,” Rhaegar furiously replies, “Alysanne’s life may be at risk but I am still your King, and I will tolerate no disrespect.”

The other Northern lords watch the argument with distaste before Ned continues.

“It has been two turns and she has yet to be found. A princess of the blood does not simply disappear into oblivion.”

“Mayhaps she has not a desire to be found,” Queen Elia suggests with thinly veiled dislike.

Ned shoots daggers at the woman with his grey eyes, “Or perhaps the Crown must needs more desire to find her.”

“She is my _daughter_ ,” Rhaegar intones angrily, “From my beloved wife, Lyanna, _good-brother_. We have all the desire to see her safe and sound.”

“Aye, perhaps,” grumbles Manderlay, eyes looking at Elia with disdain, “Perhaps not.”

“I refuse to listen to this treasonous talk,” Elia declares, gathering her skirts and readying to storm away.

Ned lets out an almost inhuman sound in his rage, “Then I refuse to export timber, ice, and rock until my _daughter_ is found. Mayhaps then she might be located sooner.”

“That is most unwise,” the Lord of Griffin’s Roost argues, “Summer is upon us and Northern ice is a necessity to keep _Southern_ crops fresh.”

“Then you’d best find my Alysanne before summer arrives,” Ned replies angrily, “Or _Southern_ crops will rot.”

“You are bluffing,” Connington replies confidently, “The North depends on Southern crops each winter. If they die your Northern savages will starve.”

“Ha!” the Thenn replies with a thick laugh and continues in heavily accented Common Tongue, “We follow the old ways in the North. Not the flashy finery of the South! We take care of ourselves just the same. The north is in our blood, _southerner_ , and we survive.”

Connington looks at the Northern lords with such hate in his eyes that Ned knows that the North has made an enemy for life out of the Stormlord.

“Our terms are set,” Ned says finally, “Until Alysanne is in my arms again, there shall be no trade between the North and the rest of the kingdoms.”

Rheagar slits his eyes at the Northern lords, who leave in haste, cursing a stolen Northern Daughter for the second generation.

* * *

The air is warmer, thicker, cloying, on Dragonstone.

“Wouldn’t you love for a walk on the shore, Your Grace?” asks Alarra.

“Perhaps,” Alysanne sighs without joy.

“You might do well with fresh air,” Daenaera says, looking up from her fine needlework, “It’s cleansing, you know. That’s what the maesters have said.”

Alysanne sighs, thinking about the last time she had been outside. She hadn’t left her apartments since she had arrived at Dragonstone, hadn’t seen outside but for the sheer drop into jagged rocks below her balcony.

“Alright,” Alysanne says finally and the whole room silences.

“Alright,” Daenaera parrots in shock, reacting quickly by shoving her needlework off her lap and shaking the surprised girls from their stupor.

“Ser Jaime,” Elissa says, “We would like to walk the shore, please. Just us _ladies_.”

Jaime’s eyes narrow but he looks at Alysanne in concern and then nods, “I shall notify the others. His Grace is busy today.”

Ser Jaime is the closest thing that Alysanne has to an older brother – since her true older brother is not a brother to her at all. He is stationed outside her door, and leaves only when Ser Gerald stands in front of her door so he might eat and sleep.

And thus, Ser Jaime hears her cry. He hears he weep when she bathes, cries as she thinks of Sansa and Arya, sobs, as she mourns her friends in the North. And yet he says nothing of what he hears. Though, Alysanne knows he listens, because when she said she missed the sweet and soothing song of her harp to no one but her wall, Ser Jaime had presented her a harp the very next day.

Thus, Alysanne’s frame relaxes, as she knows that Ser Jaime knows she will not see Aegon. She is without worry until Jaime continues.

“Should I request the presence of Princess Daenerys?”

Alarra turns to Alysanne pleadingly, “Oh _please_ , Your Grace? She’s ever so lovely. You two would get along splendidly!”

The other girls all give her a doe-eyed look and then finally Alysanne sighs, “That is acceptable.”

This is when Alysanne meets her aunt Daenerys for the first time. She is petite but with soft curves, like Alysanne, with the same white-gold hair. But where Alysanne’s eyes shown lilac, Daenerys’ orbs were a deep violet, as dark as those of Aegon. Most shocking, is the small ball of silver-grey fur in her arms.

Daenerys curtsies carefully before kissing Alysanne’s cheek, “Niece, it is such a pleasure to truly meet you. I rushed with haste when Ser Gerald told me you requested my presence. I have something for you.”

She reached her hands out and Alysanne was greeted with the sight of a little pink tongue and pointed ears.

“Rhaenys’ cat, Balerion, sired another litter of kittens. I took one for each of us. This one is for you. She’s really sweet, and gets along with my kitten, Syrax. They’re litter mates, which I thought was nice since we are _almost_ litter mates,” Daenerys says so sweetly that Alysanne is having trouble continuing to hate her. She plops the ball of fur into Alysanne’s hands and the kitten yowls before snuggling into Alysanne’s dress.

“She’s so cute,” Jeyne cooes, “I positively adore cats.”

“What will you name her, Your Grace?” asks Elissa, “Perhaps after a dragon?”

“Or after an ancestor-” begins Alarra.

“I will name her Silverwing,” Alysanne decides, “For the first Silverwing, who was Good Queen Alysanne’s closest companion.”

Daenerys smiles widely and moves to fall in step with Alysanne.

As Alysanne’s maids ready the bed for her and Daenaera, who was frequently her bedmate in the last few weeks, Alysanne thought about Daenerys. She seemed _nice_ , genuine, and kind. She was nothing at all like the impression that Alysanne had thought she might see of her aunt. She’d always thought of her as the type of princess that was in the songs that Sansa liked – vain, and stupid.

Daenerys was neither. She held herself with impossible grace, yes, but she spoke to Alysanne of the small folk, and of her personal desire for the education of orphans and widows. She never spoke of Aegon, never tried to force Alysanne to like her.

As Daenaera’s breath began to even out, the band of nerves in Alysanne’s stomach began to expand. What if everything she had known to be true was false? If Daenerys was nothing like Alysanne expected, could her other family members be different than she thought? Could Rhaenys be the kind older sister that Alysanne had so desired from her childhood? Was Viserys a doting uncle? Mayhaps step-mother Elia was not so wicked, and her father was not as unloving as she believed. What terrified her the most however, was the possibility that Aegon was not what she thought.

Alysanne had precious few moments of sleep that night, biting her lip in worry over her predicament until the red sun of dawn.

* * *

 

Alysanne finds she spends more and more time with Daenerys. It is on their fifth journey to the sea shore that Daenerys finally mentions the taboo topic of Aegon VI Targaryen.

“I have no desire to speak of him,” Alysanne says firmly.

“Please, Alysanne,” Daenerys says, “He is in anguish over this.”

“ _I_ ,” Alysanne begins, “Am in anguish. I am away from my family, and am not permitted to leave this island, or send them letters, because my brother, who claims we are betrothed, has decided we are to be _wed_.”

Dany sighs, “My brother accepted the betrothal.”

“But I did not,” Alysanne points out.

“Would you just try?” Dany pleads, “If not for him, then perhaps for me? I cannot stand the two of you not speaking. It is driving me to madness.”

She makes the face. It’s the same face Sansa makes, that Bran and Rickon have made. Alysanne cannot resist that face.

“Fine,” Alysanne says, “ _Once_.”

Dany smiles so brightly that Alysanne almost feels guilty for not agreeing sooner. Almost.

“Great! I shall have Ser Jaime retrieve him now.”

“Now?” Alysanne questions, “It seems hasty-”

But the job is done and soon Aegon is striding across the sand, hands in his trouser pockets, wind tousling his hair.

“Hello, Dany; sister.”

Alysanne murmurs a quiet hello as Dany watches on hopefully.

“Egg, did you know that Alys plays the harp?” Dany says, “Perhaps you can play me a show together. Egg makes me cry when he plays his lyre.”

Alysanne shuffles where she sits but she agreed to try, so she is _trying_.

“What is your favorite song to play?”

“I have a few,” Aegon says carefully, “The Knight of the Laughing Tree is one of my favorites.”

Alysanne blinks at him owlishly, “Knight of…”

“Yes,” Aegon confirms, “About mother Lyanna.”

“Mother… Lyanna?”

Aegon frowns, “Is there something the matter?”

Alysanne pauses and then decides to be truthful, “I did not know you spoke of my mother in such a way.”

Dany sighs sadly and Aegon gently takes Alysanne’s hand, “Though she was not my mother in blood she was still a mother to me, if for how short it was. She gave me that which is most precious to me, Alysanne.”

Alysanne stares at him.

“You, Alysanne. She gave me _you_.”


	2. Spring | Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alysanne comes upon realizations, and the tension between North and South grows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this story was supposed to be two chapters but will now be three because this chapter ended up being so long I had to cut it in two. The third chapter is nearly finished, and I will try to update within a reasonable time!

After opening her heart to Aegon, Alysanne wonders is everything she knew was wrong, if everything she had thought from her childhood about her family is false. Aegon is her family, yes. But she does not see him the way she sees Robb, Bran, and Rickon. It is different. _She_ is different.

As soon as the two begin to actually speak, things between them become less tense. The last of the snow is finally melting, and though there are no flowers, and the breeze carries a chill, the frozen ground has become muck.

All too soon spring is arriving, and all of the nobles sworn to Dragonstone are gathering for a celebration in the middle of town.

“It is a sight to behold,” Daenerys said, “It was one of my favorite festivals when I was small. There are rare flowers, and merchants, and the dwarves do a show in the town square. Then the ball is the following evening.”

“It’s to celebrate the new birth of spring,” Alarra interjects, “Since winter is over and spring is here. I suppose you had no reason to celebrate it in the North.” She frowns slightly but then smiles when Alysanne shows no look of offense.

“No,” Alysanne agrees, “Even in the summer we had snow.”

“Then you simply _must_ go,” Daenaera continues gushing with a warm look on her eyes, “the legends say that any who profess love during the Spring Festival will be blessed with fertility.”

Elissa crinkles her face in distaste and Jeyne giggles quietly but finishes tying Alysanne’s hair back in neat braids with the rest of her hair loose.

“His Grace has invited me,” Alysanne eventually divulges. She never thought she would enjoy the company of the girls who attend to her on Dragonstone. Then again, she never thought she would enjoy Aegon’s company either. She hesitantly continues, “I did not know whether I should attend.”

“You should certainly go!” cries Alarra, “I wish I could,” she pouts so similarly to Arya that it hurts Alysanne to see, “We’ve spent hours readying your gown for the ball tonight.”

“But-” Alysanne continues.

“I know we did not ask for your permission to sew the gown,” Daenera blusters, “But I had a feeling you would want to attend.”

“Alright,” Alysanne finally agrees after a moment of pregnant silence, “You’ve all convinced me. It ought to be as splendid as you’ve all made it seem or I should be terribly disappointed.”

She kisses Daenerys’ check before following Aegon from her apartment while ignoring the quiet giggling of the girls she has come to see as friends.

Aegon brings Alysanne to the town that hosts most of the population of the island. It is like nothing she has ever seen. All around there are those with pale skin, white hair, and violet eyes. She is in a sea of Valyrians, invisible, rather than in a sea of the First Men.

“Dragonseed,” Aegon says by way of explanation, as their wheelhouse throttles across the scorched cobblestones.

“Your Grace!” the voices begin to call in excitement and the voices begin to rise as the smallfolk try to get nearer to the wheelhouse.

Ser Jaime and the guards keep them at bay until Aegon opens a wooden window and speaks calmly to the crowd.

“My dear friends, my betrothed,” Alysanne’s eye twitches at that for though she has accepted Aegon into her life, she still has no desire to wed him, “has joined me today to enjoy the festival in town. Let us not overwhelm her.”

The crowd relaxes and they begin to thin on their own, lingering still near the wheelhouse in awe of seeing the Crown Prince with his betrothed.

“Did you have to say that?” Alysanne asks in annoyance. She had been enjoying the scenery, the breeze, the warmth. Now she felt ill at ease, and in her opinion, it was due to Aegon’s loose lips.

“I do not lie to my people, Alys.”

Alysanne huffs but schools her expression when a household knight opens the wheelhouse and Aegon helps her step down from her seat.

“She’s a beauty, Yer Grace!” hollers a man nearby.

“A true Valyrian beauty,” a woman in finer clothes that leads Alysanne to believe she might be married to a merchant.

“This is the lovely Princess Alysanne, daughter of Queen Lyanna and my Lord Father,” Aegon says to the enraptured crowd, “She will one day be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

The children stare in awe, violet eyes wide with excitement.

“A princess!” one cries, missing front teeth changing her speech.

Eventually, the crowd dissipates, lingering at the edges of the town square in chattering excitement. They give the pair space, perhaps hoping to keep their prince at ease. Though a few children continue to follow Alysanne and Aegon with tittering whispers of thrill as they stroll about town to enjoy the Spring Festival.

They watch a show of half men in the town center act out the romance of Jaehaerys and Alysanne. The dwarves kissed and dance and then threw petals in the air before pulling hidden stuffed dolls from behind them in waving them in the air.

“How many children shall we have my Lady Wife?” the bearded dwarf demands.

His counterpart giggles and makes a show out of pulling the dolls from her pocket frantically.

“Let’s see… That’ll be thirteen, I say!”

The crowd roars with laughter and Alysanne can’t help but smile slightly. Of course, Jaehaerys and Alysanne would be the focus of the Spring festival. Alarra had said that the festival celebrated spring and fertility.

The crowd throws coins and the group of little people bows and cheers before moving to start a new play with a fresh audience.

Aegon leads Alysanne to a stall far in the corner.

“I love the fresh oysters from this festival,” he reveals, “When we were very young, Daenerys and I would sneak away from Ser Arthur and eat them until we were suffering from bad bellies.”

Alysanne can hardly imagine it, Daenerys and her otherworldly beauty lying with a bad belly of oysters. For some reason, the thought saddens her. She knows her family none at all until now. Why? Why did Elia send her away? Why was she never able to see her father’s family?

“You have been quiet,” Aegon finally says as the two sit inelegantly, cross-legged on a thick blanket provided by Ser Jaime.

“I- yes.”

Aegon studies Alysanne quietly before speaking again, “Would you care to discuss why you have been so?”

Alysanne is hesitant to speak and so Aegon continues, “You fear you will upset me?”

“I suppose,” Alysanne finally admits, “But I think perhaps… I might upset myself.”

Aegon stares at Alysanne impassively, waiting for her to continue, and so Alysanne sighs, “I feel as though I have missed so much, _too_ much. I do not know you, or Daenerys, or Rhaenys-”

“You know us _now_.”

“I know _nothing_ ,” Alysanne cries in frustration, “And I cannot help but feel that – well, that I am not part of this family. I know you now, yes. But I have no memories of our shared childhood. I have no stories of a bad belly of oysters, or of coming to this festival each year with Daenerys. I missed Rhaenys’ wedding and I am only now getting to know the lady who will be Uncle Viserys’ wife. I- _I missed so much_ and it _hurts_.” Her eyes well up with tears and Aegon has a look on his face that forces Alysanne to continue, “I want no pity-”

“It is not pity that you see but shared grief, Alys.”

Alysanne chokes on a sob and Aegon shifts to sit closer to her. He takes her hand in hers and looks at her with such intensity that Alysanne is momentarily taken aback.

“We have always wanted you. From the moment I knew of you, knew that I had another sister in this world, I have wanted you by my side. Daenerys, Rhaenys, and I – we left room for you. You were in our games, even if you were not _truly_ there. Daenerys and Rhaenys played dress up with you. We brought you to this festival each year. You were with us, if not in body but in spirit. Do you understand what I am saying, Alys? _We wanted you_.”

Alysanne buries her face in her hand, tears flowing as Aegon hands her a silken handkerchief, “But your mother-”

“-Is in a difficult position. I know she sent you away. It was not right, and I have said as much. Daenerys and Rhaenys and father have too. But they had no choice. My mother did not hate you.”

Alysanne scoffs and Aegon continues earnestly, “She did not. I know it seems hard to believe. She sent you away – yes. She did want you gone. You reminded of her Lyanna and of our father’s adultery.

As much as I love Mother Lyanna, I understand the shame that my own mother bared. She had no desire for our father to take a second wife, but she accepted it. And when Lyanna was taken by the Stranger they tried to force Cersei Lannister on our father in her place. She wanted to leave our father but she could not.”

Alysanne looks at Aegon in confusion.

“They wanted you dead, sweet sister. The Lannisters wanted you dead and then Eddard Stark demanded that you return North with him, and my mother in her anger and her resentment against our father agreed. And so, her anger at Lyanna and father and all of the destruction – it was placed on you. She regrets it. I know she does.”

Alysanne swallows. It is too much. _This_ is too much. Everything she had thought from her whole childhood is a lie. And if it is not, she wants it to be. Because this tastes sweeter, feels fairer. She wants her family, wants a future.

“We have always wanted you,” Aegon says fiercely, eyes aflame with such emotion that Alysanne chokes on a sob before throwing her arms around his neck tightly. “ _I_ have always wanted you.”

* * *

 

After the emotional wave of their meal, Alysanne dries her tears and follows Aegon to the stalls of brightly colored goods. There are spices, silks, and an endless supply of exotic flowers.

“A narcissus,” a kindly woman says as she names the bud that Alysanne had been inspecting. “Beautiful, are they not?”

Alysanne nods and the woman smiles, “If you like any of our flowers, Your Grace, we would be happy to send as many as you like to the castle. At no extra charge for you, of course.”

“We would pay the same as any,” Aegon says firmly, “I would not be a fair ruler if I took from my people because of my station.”

“I mean no offense, Your Grace-”

“No offense taken,” he pulls his purse from his pocket and takes note of the flowers he saw Alysanne inspecting, “We will take the lot of them.”

The other merchants nearby drop their jaws, and a few whisper curses of jealous at the woman’s fortune. The Crown Prince’s patronage is highly coveted, especially when he spends enough gold to feed a family for a year.

“From all of you,” Aegon continues to even more surprise, “We shall need them for the ball, and my betrothed has been admiring these blooms.”

The merchants are chattering in happiness, flustered by the prince’s request and excited to have their wares lining the walls of Dragonstone for the Spring Ball.

They continue on their way until Alysanne is enticed by an elderly woman’s small shop filled with exotic silks, thin linens, and soft satin.

The lace is especially beautiful, fine and delicate. She thinks about the gown that her ladies had sewn her and thinks specifically of Daenaera. She is by far the most gifted with a needle, and who had certainly spent the most time of any of her ladies sewing this mysterious gown – a gown that Alysanne has yet to see, which leads her to believe that the Velaryon had been working by candlelight in the wee hours of the morning or late hours of the evening. The toothless women smiles as she sees her interest and speaks directly to her, “A special deal for ye, Yer Grace! Fine Lysene lace. Fit for a bridal cloak, it is.”

Aegon sees Alysanne pause and she turns red at his gaze, “I was looking for Daenaera! She has started to embroider her wedding gown and mentioned wanting lace.” She clears her throat and begins to turn around, “I haven’t any coin anyway.”

“You’ve not spent any of the allowances I’ve set aside for you,” Aegon points out. “If you would favor this lace for Lady Daenaera, you should purchase it.”

Alysanne pauses, and then fingers the lace again before picking up the entire bolt with determination, as well as several thinner silks, gossamer, a light natural colored linen and several rolls of golden thread. It is paid for, and costs far less than Alysanne thinks it should, and is promptly loaded into their wheelhouse.

Their next stop is the town bake shop, which is covered in bright floral decorations for the Spring Festival.

“Good afternoon, my friend,” Aegon says as the baker comes into sight, “I have the order for this turn.”

“Yer Grace! I wasn’t expectin’ ye for another sennight. What’ll it be this time?”

“Was last turns order enough?”

Alysanne is looking back and forth in confusion.

“A bit shy, Yer Grace.”

“What are you ordering, Your Grace?” Alysanne questions.

“Bread of course,” Aegon replies, “For the orphanage and the widows.”

“A good deed certainly, Yer Grace.” The rotund man takes the coins offered and then bows again, “Bless ye, truly.”

When they leave Alysanne is stunned, “You do that every turn?”

Aegon looks at her in confusion, “Of course. I am the Prince of Dragonstone. This is my land, and these are my people. I am meant to look after them or no one else would.”

He leads her to a small stand with a young woman bouncing a baby on her hip as she shows off the many handmade jewelry pieces in front of her. “Perhaps you would like to pick out something new?”

The woman’s wide violet eyes look especially eager and hopeful, and Alysanne wonders if she has sold a single item during the festival. Her baskets velvet lined cushions look suspiciously full.

Alysanne is about to refuse when Aegon continues, “After all if the nobles hear that the future Princess of Dragonstone has bought from this stand, they will flock to purchase similar things in an effort to embrace you and perhaps gain your favor.”

The young woman looks hopeful, and the child at her side claps her hands with a smile, “Oh please, Yer Grace. I would be grateful for the honor of sellin’ to the future Queen.”

Alysanne cannot bear to let her or the babe down so she stares at the pieces before her until she finally picks up a bracelet of glass beads with a hyacinth flower in the middle. The color reminds her of Jeyne’s eyes and the one beside it of Alarra’s favorite sea-green gown with a lily. “Do you perhaps have others of these? A violet, a dahlia, a hibiscus, and a winter rose?”

The woman eagerly shows her bracelets similar to what Alysanne requests and she hands over several coins while pocketing the bracelets when a small golden ring catches her eye. It has a thin band, with an opal in the center, flecks of green, orange, and blue prominent in the cabochon face.

Simple, but beautiful.

Aegon follows her eye and picks the ring up, handing the woman another coin, “This one as well.”

“It might not fit,” Alysanne objects while Aegon slips the ring onto her first finger.

“A perfect match,” the Valyrian merchant says with a soft smile.

Across the square, a dark-haired man turns away.

* * *

 

Alysanne wakes to the gentle voice of her bedmate for the evening, Elissa.

“We’ve to ready you for the ball,” Elissa reminds her, “and Daenerys has requested breakfast with you.”

Alysanne eats sleepily with Daenerys, lounging in her chambers before the two are ferried into steaming hot baths. Oils are applied to their skin, and rouge to their lips and cheeks. Daenaera ties intricate braids into Alysanne’s hair and smooths her curls into tapered perfection. Flowers are sewn into her hair and finally, she sees the creation that Daenaera had worked so diligently to complete.

The gown that they sew her into is a pale blush with lace flowers and butterflies of white gold and silver climbing up from the skirt. The neck plunges in a v and the back is entirely bare but for a few crossing strings. It is a gown with strong Dornish influence, and Alysanne loves it. Her earrings and necklace highlight the column of her neck and the swell of her breasts. With only a moment of thought she slides the opal ring unto her finger.

“You look glorious,” Daenerys comments, putting her mask in front of her face teasingly, “We could be twins, now!”

It is true, Alysanne thinks. They are of a similar build, of the same height, with the same hair length. Yet their eyes will always be a way to tell the two Targaryen princesses apart.

“The ball has begun,” Daenaera says, “We ought to put on our masks and join the festivities.”

Alysanne ties the mask to her face, careful not to dislodge her tiara or destroy the pristine braids that Daenaera had painstakingly tied.

They rush down the main staircase towards the ballroom where the string group is already playing and the guests are flittering around. It seems most of the nobles in attendance are from the crownlands. Based on hair alone, Alysanne sees plenty of Bar Emmons, Velaryons, Celitgars, and Sunglasses.

And she _knows_ when she sees Aegon. It isn’t his hair that gives him away, or even his eyes. It’s his gait – the way he stands – he controls the room. And he knows it. Her ladies giggle around her when he walks directly towards her.

“My Princess,” he says and Alysanne’s cheeks redden.

“Your Grace,” she replies as Aegon leads her towards the dance floor.

They twirl about for three songs before Alysanne begins to feel parched and the two steal away to a small alcove.

“Are you enjoying your first Southern ball?”

“Perhaps,” Alysanne replies coyly, “It mightn’t be my first.”

“Hmm,” Aegon smiles, “Already a masqueraded Southern seductress. You might be right my love. This could not possibly be your first time.”

Alysanne smiles mischievously and before she can reply, Aegon’s fingers are trailing across her bare back. It stings – tingles – _shocks_. Her hair stands on end, and the feel of his soft caresses causes her peaks to harden as though a cold breeze has passed through.

“You are by far the stunning star of the night, Alys,” Aegon continues, “In this sinful gown. I will have to thank Lady Daenaera personally for her effort.”

Alysanne blushes deeply, and swats his arms as she hides her face in his chest.

“It embarrasses you when I comment on your beauty,” Aegon remarks, “It should not. You are perfect, in every sense, sweet sister.”

She looks up and although she hears the strings playing, smells the wine – all she can feel is the heat of Aegon’s breath, see the embers in his eyes. He’s moving closer and Alysanne thinks she may finally be ready-

“Ah my nephew,” comes a drawling voice and Alysanne jerks away hastily.

“Viserys,” Aegon says, politely if not shortly.

“I see that I have interrupted you,” Viserys notes as he leans against the wall, “Perhaps I came at the right time. I would not want my niece’s virtue in question.” He turns to Alysanne, “Alysanne, you are as fair as your mother was. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Daenaera writes highly of you.”

Alysanne’s blush deepens, which she is certain should not be possible, and then stutters are fragmented greeting that would have had Septa Mordane cracking her knuckles.

“Viserys-” Aegon growls.

“Oh please,” Viserys continues, “I am only looking out for the both of you. Rutting like lovesick children at a masquerade ball. It’s as though you’ve decided to act out the tawdry writings that Rhaenys and Arianne read.

Alysanne mumbles are horrifyingly embarrassed and she rushes away towards Daenerys who is hanging on Corlyss Velaryon’s every word.

“You look rather flushed,” Dany notes with a sweet smile, “Should I expect to see my nephew in disarray?”

“For the sake of-” Alysanne begins to curse while Dany’s tinkling laughter travels.

“Welcome to a Southern ball, my love,” Dany says with a chaste kiss to Alysanne’s cheek.

Alysanne grumbles unhappily but allows Aegon to take her towards the dance floor where they begin to spin to the beat of a high tempo number.

They share four dances before Aegon is called away and Alysanne rushes towards Daenaera in an effort to avoid dancing with someone she does not know.

“If I had not sewn that gown myself, I would swear that you could pass for me,” Daenaera begins with a small smile, “We do look alike, especially with these masks on.”

Alysanne nods absently and Daenaera continues, “I know you like it here.”

Alysanne looks at Daenaera in confusion, “I-”

Daenaera’s hands are clasped in front of her and Alysanne sees a hint of the Daenaera that she has only seen in passing before. This Daenaera can navigate the snake pit of King’s Landing, has an astute head on her shoulders, and is ready to take her position as a Targaryen Princess, “Because you could take your mask off at any moment and perhaps someone here would betray His Grace. But you have not. I wonder why that is, Alysanne.”

Alysanne frowns, “If you wish to say something, Daenaera, I suggest you do so plainly.”

Daenaera turns and looks at Alysanne directly, “You have feelings for His Grace, and you enjoy your life in the South.”

Before Alysanne can contradict her, Daenaera continues, “Please, Alys. There is no shame. Perhaps the start of your time here was full of strife. But it is in the past. You are the only person who stands in the way of your own happiness. Accept that His Grace is your future sooner, for you know not how many years you will have together before the Stranger takes either of you.”

Alysanne swallows and Daenaera must sense her anxiety because she takes Alysanne’s hand into her own. “Princess Lyanna and His Grace had mere turns together, and yet their love is perhaps the greatest love story since King Jaehaerys and his Queen Alysanne. Live fiercely, Alysanne, and love deeply.”

Daenaera presses a kiss to Alysanne’s cheek and as she sees Aegon approach, Daenaera curtseys and disappears into the crowd in search of Viserys.

“Is anything the matter?” Aegon questions, seeing Alysanne’s tense arms and glassy eyes.

Alysanne looks Aegon. _Truly looks at him_. His deep violet eyes are nearly indigo, and his silvery hair is only slightly longer than it was the first time the met, pulled back and framing his slightly rounded jaw. She knows he is beautiful. Any woman could see how handsome he is. But she knows what is within, knows of his deeds, his hopes, and his dreams.

“Nothing,” Alysanne says finally, with a genuine smile, “Daenaera was simply being a true friend.”

Aegon smiles, and they dance until the moon retires and the sun rises across the Narrow Sea.

* * *

“You are sure of what you saw?” Lord Stark demands sternly, eyes glittering with silent rage.

“Aye, Lord Stark. She’s there with the Targaryen Prince,” Wyman Manderlay says glumly. He knows the implications of what his son saw. The realm does not need another rebellion, and neither do his pockets, which have become quite shallow since the refusal to trade with the South.

“We cannot let this stand!” Umber cries, “Another Northern daughter stolen by a Targaryen Prince! Princess Alysanne is a beacon of the north-”

“Aye,” Lady Mormont says coolly, “This insult is too much to bear.”

“We cannot go to war,” says Lord Bolton, his pale eyes lacking any emotion, “Winter has only just gone.”

“I do not know want war either,” continues Lord Reed, “If only because it would not bring Her Grace back to Winterfell. I will do as my Lord commands, however. Where a Stark goes the North will follow.”

“Aye!” cries Karstark, “And what says the Warden of the North?”

Lord Stark looks even and has sat in quiet contemplation while his lords have argued and wailed about the injustices served to them by the Southern Dragon King. He stands and the room quiets. His mouth opens, and then he makes his final decision, “Call the banners! We will march!”

Robb watches the men cheer and thinks about the months since Alysanne’s abduction. His father was not truly the man that he had known. Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell had always been level headed, even, _the quiet wolf_. And yet when it came to the topic of his beloved niece, Princess Alysanne, Robb saw a side of his father that he would swear belonged to another.

The quiet wolf became _deadly_.

The whole Known World knew of the story of Lyanna Stark and her Dragon Prince. Betrothed to Robert Baratheon, and in love with Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark had fled from Riverrun into Rhaegar’s arms. Brandon Stark and Rickard Stark died soon after, murdered by the Mad King Aerys. After demanding Ned Stark’s head, Jon Arryn raised his banners in rebellion. Princess Lyanna was missing, presumed abducted by Rhaegar, and Elia Martell was held hostage with the royal children at King’s Landing.

Robert had been beaten at the Trident, and Rhaegar’s men set their sights on King’s Landing and King Aerys. The Mad King was unstable, paranoid, and had no desire to lose his kingdom to his son and heir and demanded that all of the city burn. Only by the quick thinking of Ser Jaime Lannister was King’s Landing saved from the Mad King’s flames.

Peace talks at the Trident had made Ned aware that his sister was married, happy, in love, and in Dorne. Under Targaryen and Stark banners, Ned raced to the Tower of Joy only to watch his sister die in childbed, a silver-haired babe in hand.

From that day, Ned had been Alysanne’s father in all but name. He carried Alysanne and Lyanna’s bones back to Winterfell and raised Alysanne as though she was his own. In their minds, she was a Stark of Winterfell.

Robb knew this to be true. Alysanne was their _sister_. She was their _family_. She was of the North. She _belonged_ in the North.

Robb raises his sword and cheers.

* * *

“Silverwing!” Alysanne scolds when the silver kitten pounces onto Aegon’s lap as they break their fast. The kitten gives no indication she has heard Alysanne and proceeds to eye Aegon’s freshly caught fish.

Aegon pets her and feeds her a sliver of fish and Alysanne isn’t sure what she’s feeling. She thinks of the words the women in her life have spoken about what she thinks she may perhaps feel. Ever since the ball things have been different. _No_ , Alysanne thinks, _it was before that_. Things had not been as they were for a while. But the ball still managed to change everything. Daenaera’s words echoed in her head, and everything had changed.

The looks which had one been lingering were now without shame. Aegon stared upon her visage as though he would never see her again. He drank her in like a fine Dornish red. He stared at her lips and her fingers, and watched her hips sway as she swanned from his reach.

 _He is pursuing me_.

Before he was simply trying to convince her that he was worth having in her life. Now, though, he is honest in his desire. He wants more than she has given, and Alysanne is not quite sure what she is willing to give and what she is willing to take.

She is not sure about any of this because she has far too many feelings about the entire situation that has occurred. She _enjoys_ his gaze, finds comfort in the heat with which he looks upon her skin. That much is certainly true. And yet she wonders if she is in love with the thought of love, if she is betraying those who are looking for her by embracing the man who took her from her uncle.

At times like this, Alysanne wishes she had the company of the Mormont sisters. More shrewd women she has never encountered, and wiser shieldmaidens have never existed. And thus, she quietly begins to enquire what love feels like to her ladies – who though they pretend not to react seem to know exactly what is on her heart.

_“It’s a fluttering,” sighed Alarra, as she spoke of her betrothed, Lord Edric Dayne of Starfall, “He writes me such sweet notes.”_

_“Viserys is a man of few words,” Daenaera revealed, “He gives me flowers, hyacinths, because he knows how I love them.”_

_“Each time Corlyss and I meet it feels warm. As though I have someone who will protect me. Not from danger, but protecting my heart that I willingly gave.” Daenerys sighs and leans back._

_Elissa smiles lightly, “I’ve yet to feel that way. However, I will not deny my nerves whenever Lord Clement looks my way.”_

“Alysanne?” a voice asks, and she looks up.

“Yes?”

“I’ve been saying your name for a while. Have you a day dream or two?”

Alysanne’s face begins to heat and she mumbles something quietly that thankfully, Aegon does not ask her to repeat.

“I thought perhaps we could take a walk in Aegon’s Garden. The flowers have begun to bloom.”

Alysanne sits up and agrees as Daenerys looks on with a sly expression on her face.

Surrounded by the fresh greenery of spring, Alysanne finds the anger that has been her companion on Dragonstone has faded. Where once she might have thought of the time she spent on the island hostage, she thinks of how _green_ the south is.

“Alysanne,” Aegon begins, “I know we have spoken of this before, but you did not want to hear it then.”

Alysanne hopes that Aegon will not ruin this moment by speaking of a marriage that Alysanne still does not want. It is not that Alysanne dislikes the idea of marriage – or even the idea of marriage with Aegon. Rather, Alysanne is annoyed by the prospect of being forced into a marriage without her consent, even to a man she has grown to want in earnest. Alysanne is not sure about her feelings, and therefore she is sure she is not ready for marriage.

“Must we needs discuss this?” Alysanne replies with a look of long-suffering.

“It is critical that we do,” Aegon replies, “I feel I must tell you of what I know.”

Alysanne acquiesces, albeit without enthusiasm. Perhaps she has feelings for Aegon, but she is still not accepting of the way that they had met, the way that their relationship had begun.

“I know you do not believe me, but I _did_ send you letters. I never received a response, but I did send my personal raven each turn to update you of our family. I did this for over six years.”

Alysanne frowns, “It’s not that I am refusing to believe you-”

“It’s a raven with a left wing that had a single white feather.”

Alysanne’s eye twitches and Aegon notices immediately.

“You have,” he says slowly, “So my letters _did_ arrive. You just never received them.”

Alysanne is watching the look of comprehension cross Aegon’s face before it becomes stony, “But why-”

“It’s unimportant,” Aegon says, thinking of Alysanne’s continued distress about missing the early lives of her family members and what she would feel if she knew the truth, “What matters is that we are together here and now.”

“But-”

“We can make new memories together.”

Alysanne senses the conversation is done, even if she doesn’t think it’s over in the slightest. Because Alysanne knows of only one raven with a white feather – and she does not like the conclusions she is drawing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. What do you think of Daenaera? What about the raven with the white feather? And do you think that the rest of the Targaryens know about Alysanne's abduction? Comment below and tell me how you think the story ends!
> 
> On a side note, I'm so glad this fandom is refusing to die with the terrible way that season 8 progressed. Love you all!


	3. Summer | Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every action has a consequence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Here is the penultimate chapter. I feel terrible to keep you all hanging, but unfortunately, this chapter was about 2,000 words too long to keep the story three chapters. Instead, this chapter and the next chapter will both be about 4,000 words.  
> I hope you guys enjoy this!

Septa Mordane taught Alysanne many lessons. Some she has forgotten over the years and others she will remember forever. One lesson she has learned since she was able to walk. That lesson has always been that highborn ladies do not lay with men until they are wed.

And she wonders how she has put herself in this position, why she knows the feeling of Aegon’s bare chest, the caress of his fingertips in places she dares not touch.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he whispers into her ear.

It is bittersweet, she knows, because he did take her. He took her from her family, from the north. And perhaps she will never forgive him for that. But she knows she has moved past her anger, and her resentment. She moved beyond it when she allowed him to kiss her womb.

“You are so quiet,” Aegon whispers. A shadow crosses his face, one of fear, “Do you regret what we did?”

Alysanne shakes her head, “No. I will never regret you.” She looks him in the eye and says what she has been thinking for many moons, “I love you.”

A soft smile crosses Aegon’s lips and he leans in to kiss her forehead, “I love you, Alysanne; more than anyone in the Known World. Remember that.”

It should endear her to him. It should not feel ominous. But somehow, some way, his words do not bring her comfort and do no bring her fear. Only, a sense of foreboding.

A knock on Aegon’s chamber door startles them both.

“A raven has arrived, Your Graces. From the King.”

Alysanne’s shoulder sink guiltily. Ser Jaime may be disappointed in her, for he knows what happened last night, and he would surely not approve.

Aegon takes the scroll, unashamed of his nudity, though Alysanne blushes hotly from beneath the bed linens. His eye twitches and Alysanne looks at him in interest.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says as he shoves the scroll into his desk.

“Do not lie to me, Aegon,” Alysanne says, “I will not stand for lies.”

Aegon sits on the bed beside her and sighs, “Our father knows you are here. He has summoned us both to Court.”

Alysanne does not breathe.

“How?”

“We were seen,” Aegon says without emotion, “At the spring festival. Apparently, Lord Manderley sent his son to Dragonstone to _spy_.” The last word comes out as a hiss, Aegon’s anger finally showing on his face. “Your uncle has brought an army south and is threatening rebellion if I do not return you.”

They sit in silence and suddenly Alysanne is aware of her nakedness, aware of what she did the night previous. And she is terrified to face her uncle.

Aegon stands, face impassive, “We will leave at dusk tonight.” He pauses and then looks at her meaningfully, “They cannot take you from me.”

He stands, turns, and leaves Alysanne alone with her thoughts, alone in his bed, and alone in her fear.

* * *

 

Alysanne does not remember the last time there was this much silence between her and Aegon. He says few words, only sits in his berth reading a book in high Valyrian.

Daenaera and Viserys are in the far corner, talking in tiny whispers while Elissa and Alarra play a game of cyvasse. Jeyne is simply lounging with Alysanne and Silverwing. Daenerys is napping with her own kitten next to Alysanne.

They all seem too calm. How, she wonders, are they all not terrified of the King’s wrath?

“Your Grace,” a voice says from outside the door, “The ship will dock momentarily… The Kingsguard is waiting with the northern contingent for us at the shore.”

Aegon closes his book with a resigned look on his face. There is no escape now. Her father’s men are waiting for them. Her uncle’s men are waiting for them.

The ride to the royal exit of the Red Keep is a blur. She sits beside Aegon, not a word said, even as they are led up winding stairs, past dragon’s heads and whispering maids to the Throne Room.

The first thing she sees is the Iron Throne, tall and imposing, with a thousand blades sharpened beneath his feet. At the bottom of the stairs is a tanned woman, Queen Elia, she knows, for she shares Aegon’s eye shape and his willowy frame.

And across the room, dower, as he has ever been, is Lord Eddard Stark. Her uncle is not how she remembers. His beard is greyer than it was before, his voice gruffer, and his stance like that of a predator. This uncle is a wolf.

“She will return to the North where she belongs,” argues her uncle, staring angrily at Aegon. Clearly, this is not the start of the quarrel between King and Lord.

“Uncle, please-” Alysanne begins, hoping that if she steps in things may not escalate.

“He abducted a Northern Princess!” booms Umber wizened white beard moving in his wroth, “He is not fit to be King!”

The northern contingent cries angrily in agreement while the Targaryen Loyalists hiss their disagreement. It is at this point that Alysanne realizes that there is a clear divide in the room. On one end are dark-haired men and women, wearing plainer linens and burlaps, hair wild and free. On the other end are silver-haired and tanned men and women, in silks and with their hair tied back in the oppressive heat.

“It was but a misunderstanding-” Viserys begins, from where he stands beside Aegon.

“Make no mistake,” Lord Bolton scowls, “The Crown hid Princess Alysanne from us and lied. House Targaryen has broken faith with House Stark and the North!”

There were more cheers and Alysanne begins to panic at the resigned look on Aegon’s face. Has he no worries? Is he not afraid that their love will end the way their father’s and her mother’s did? Is he not worried that their desire for each other could lead to the death of thousands?

Rhaegar gives a look of stern anger when he replied pointedly, “I am Alysanne’s father, good-brother. I decide who she marries, not you.”

At this, her uncle looks as though he has been slapped, “I have raised that child as one of my own-”

“And I thank you for protecting my youngest daughter. Yet she is my child, and I promised her hand to my son. You know this, for you received my many ravens with betrothal contracts.” Rhaegar shifts on the throne, clearly annoyed at being questioned about his daughter. “I gave my permission for their betrothal, and her abduction was a miscalculation that should not have occurred as it did.”

“They took her!” yells Karstark, “From Maidenpool-”

“It was not meant to be so,” Aegon interjects earnestly, “I sent them to treat with Lord Stark and they betrayed me-”

Karstark interrupts angrily, “Just as House Targaryen has betrayed us-”

“You seem to forget, Lord Stark,” Rhaegar begins angrily, “that I am Princess Alysanne’s father, and your King. I have tolerated this disrespect but for the love we both bore Lyanna. I will tolerate it no longer.” Rhaegar stands from his throne, “I decreed that Alysanne would marry Aegon upon sign of her first blood. She stands before me, a woman grown, and my decision still stands.”

“He abducted her!” a man Alysanne does not recognize cries angrily, “It is not done!”

“Please!” Alysanne cries over the men who fall silent at her voice, “He took me, yes. But it was a misunderstanding-”

“Bah!” spits Umber, “He has held the Princess captive and now she misreads their relationship. All the more reason to return her to the North!”

“No!” cries Alysanne, “I want to stay with Aegon!”

The crowd falls into shocked silence and Ned’s face is stone.

“No one,” Alysanne cries in frustration, “has ever asked me what I wanted. Aegon took me, but you, uncle, you took me too.”

The northerners gasp in horror and Alysanne continues, “I know my mother made you promise to keep me safe and you did. But I have lost touch with half of my family because you brought me north. I may be the Northern Princess, but I belong to the south too.”

Lord Reed is watching with dark eyes but her uncle simply looks sad.

“You truly feel this way? That you do not belong with us?”

“That is not what I said, Uncle,” Alysanne says in frustration, “I am not a Stark. I have your blood, yes, but I also have a name. I am also a Targaryen and I do not want to lose the chance to know my family.”

“Are we also not your family?” Uncle Ned asks morosely, “Did I not feed you at my table and hold you when you cried?”

Alysanne feels like a wretch at this moment, because her uncle had loved her. He had taught her the Old Gods, had shown her the hot springs, had told her tales of her mother and the north while she sat upon his knee. “You did, uncle. And for that, I thank you each day. But I must grow on my own now. Please,” at this Alysanne turns towards her father, “Please let me choose my path for myself. All my life everyone has made my decisions for me. My late mother decided to have me, Queen Elia decided to send me away, Uncle Ned decided to take me North, and Aegon decided to take me with him. Please, let me choose my own future.”

“And what would your future be, daughter, if you could choose?” Rhaegar is not demanding, and he has a look on his face that shows true compassion. Perhaps her father does care. After all, he had risked war for the chance to wed Lyanna Stark.

“I would choose to be with Aegon. He is good, and fair, and will be the King that we all need. And, I love him, truly, as he loves me.”

Ned can sense he is losing the chance to bring Alysanne back to the north and so he begins to object, “You are too young for such things,” her uncle argues, “You must come home. We cannot tolerate this shame upon our house!”

“It is no shame!” Alysanne cries in frustration, angry that her father seems to understand her more than her uncle, “It is how I feel!”

“I will not end the blockade until you are returned North,” her uncle says with such finality it cripples her, as though he knows that she will bend if he forces her.

She feels as though she is a possession, as though the north and south are bargaining by using her hand. She is being pulled north, and south, and she simply wants to _be_.

“And I will not let you take my wife from me,” Aegon says without a shred of remorse in his iron voice.

All is silent until the outraged screams begin and Alysanne looks at Aegon in shocked confusion.

“You lie!” screams Glover in righteous fury, “You lie!”

“I do not lie,” Aegon says simply, “Alysanne is my wedded bride, and has been for an entire turn of the moon.”

Rhaegar shouts for silence from the winding stairs of the Iron Throne at the shocked cries of rage from the crowd.

“You will explain, my son,” Rhaegar says patience dwindling, “And you will do so swiftly.”

“Upon the Spring Festival,” Aegon begins, “Alysanne accepted a fire opal ring from me, an ancient Valyrian promise of marriage. For an act of love at the equinox is a gift of fertility, and bonds a couple for life.”

Alysanne’s throat is dry and she is staring with what she knows is an unattractive look upon her face.

Men on both sides of the throne room are shouting in anger but Alysanne hears nothing but the blood in her ears. The ring upon her finger, which she had loved and cherished – married?

“Silence!” the King shouts, “In the name of your King!” Rhaegar turns to Alysanne a kind but impatient look upon his face, “My dear daughter, is this true? Did you accept an act of love at the Spring Festival from the Prince of Dragonstone?”

Alysanne looks into Aegon’s eyes and she sees hope. She sees the promises that they made. That he would never force her to do anything she did not want to. That he would treat her as an equal. That they would love each other forever. She makes a decision that is perhaps the easiest she has ever made. Because where she was once lost, she is now sure. And Gods damn her – she loves him.

“Aye,” Alysanne declares, shocking the crowd, “It is true. We are married by the Valyrian laws of men.”

Ned cries out in horror and the lords begin to talk over each other in rage, “This is preposterous-”

“I love you, uncle, truly, but I love Aegon. He is everything to me. We are happy. Please-”

“I cannot break my word, Alysanne. I promised your mother I would take care of you. I promised that there would be no trade between north and south. I cannot-”

“I have made a decision!” Rhaegar declares from the throne, face tired, but serious, “I have no desire for war. We have all suffered enough.”

The Northmen start to fume and yet Rhaegar continues, “I will not have resentment between the north and south, but I will not destroy the bonds of love between a young couple.”

Alysanne stands straighter, hoping with all of her heart that she will not be ripped from Aegon’s arms.

“And yet I cannot have the anger of the north.” Rhaegar sits back down on the throne of swords and leans forward, “And so, I will make this decree. My son and heir and my daughter shall stay married-”

Shouts ring out until the King shouts, “However! I will not have strained relations with my beloved good-brother. I thus declare, that Princess Alysanne Targaryen will spend six turns of each year in the north to repay the six turns she was lost to them, and six turns with her Lord husband. So mote it be!”

Alysanne stops breathing in horrified silence and Aegon leaps into action, holding her tightly, “Father, you cannot suggest-”

“I have made my decision,” Rhaegar thunders, “If you had waited, been patient for the negotiations I promised there would be, there would be no need. But I am not heartless, and I will not punish my daughter, who is innocent in all of this. For the spring and summer, you two shall be together, and for the autumn and winter, Alysanne will reside in the north. You will have a formal marriage at the Isle of Faces by a Septon to honor both of your faiths just as Lyanna and I once did. Then Alysanne will return to Winterfell with Lord Stark as autumn now approaches. It is done.”

As the men yell their displeasure Alysanne thinks on one other lesson Septa Mordane had taught her. A man does not simply argue with a King. It is done.

* * *

 

Aegon leads Alysanne to Maegor’s Holdfast and into his rooms, which have been unused since winter.

Ser Jaime stays outside, and they stand in silence, simply staring at each other as though they are ready for the other to implode.

The ring she fiddles with is on her finger and she looks at it with impassive eyes. This ring which she had so cherished was a plot, a plan.

The dread on Aegon’s face grows and soon he is sitting tiredly in a chair while Alysanne stands accusingly.

“You tricked me.”

Aegon has a look of resignation on his face, “It was only in case we needed it. I would never have held you to it-”

Alysanne’s face reddens in anger, “You still tricked me. How could you do this to me? After everything-”

“I never wanted you to see me like that,” Aegon interjects.

Alysanne scoffs and demands, “Like what? The true you? Who lies and cheats and steals?” Aegon has the decency to look ashamed but Alysanne continues angrily, “I already knew the worst of you, Aegon, in case you forgot how I came to you in the first place.”

As soon as she says it, she sees the pain on his face, and yet somehow, she cannot seem to regret what she said. She will not take it back. It is the truth, and it is lying between them.

Aegon snaps, “I have apologized for that countless times, Alysanne. When will you stop holding it over my head-”

“Holding it over your head?” Alysanne shrieks shrilly, “You took me from my family!”

“I never wanted-”

But Alysanne is pushing ahead. She wants answers, and she wants them _now_ , “I only want to know why. Why did you do it? What else was a lie?”

Aegon is quick to answer, standing as he moves closer, willing her to believe him, “Nothing, I swear it. I simply... showed you all the good that I do.”

“The bread for the widows,” Alysanne whispers, “He said you were a sennight early.”

Aegon looks guilty, “I knew you would never believe that I am not evil unless you saw it-”

“And Daenerys? Is she truly my friend at all? Did everyone know but me? Did you plan this deception together?” That almost hurts to ask, because Daenerys had been a true balm to Alysanne’s wounds. She has been a friend, a sister, and the possibility that it was not as she thought might break her heart more than love lost with Aegon. Certainly, marriage is for life but true sisterhood is a boon to any high lady. Loyalty is something that Alysanne has only found from Sansa and Arya.

Aegon looks so sad that Alysanne wonders if she wants to know the answer at all. He has a grown of guilt on his face and eventually replies, “She loves you. And what you two have together is true, I swear it… Father did not know what I did. I swore Viserys and Daenerys to secrecy. Please do not blame either of them. They both objected to what I did.”

 _Objected, but did not act,_ Alysanne thinks.

What about Daenaera’s words of wisdom? Her relationship with her southern ladies? How is she ever supposed to know what is real and what is not? Her uncle, no matter how his lies hurt is right about this. The south is full of flowery words and ambition.

“How can I believe you when you have lied about the very foundations of our relat-”

“I love you, Alysanne, with everything in me. I have never lied about that. I made a mistake… I will earn your trust back. Even if it takes me years, I will have your faith again. I swear it.” He looks so unhappy as he speaks, pleading, his eyes shining with emotion. Is it real? Is it another lie?

“How can I believe that when everything you have shown me of yourself is a lie?” It is true, she thinks, because perhaps her feelings are also a lie. Perhaps the man she has grown to love is nothing but a shadow. And now she is shackled to the shadow that will always live between them.

“It is not a lie - just not the whole truth. I love you and I promise I will not disappoint you again.” He looks at her so earnestly, pleading. How can he promise that? What man never disappoints his wife?

Alysanne is so tired of the lies. She suddenly feels as though she has aged a hundred years. She feels as though all the anger, the resentment, the pain – it has caught up with her. She is lying in a pool of lies; from her uncle and her father and now her husband – will no one tell her the truth?

“I want honesty from now on, Aegon.”

They sit in tense silence before Aegon continues, “Might you ever forgive me?”

“It matters not,” Alysanne finally says and Aegon’s face falls, “It is done. The ink is dry and the past is in the past. We are bonded for life and I refuse to be angry. Gods save me I still love you. And I hate it.”

Alysanne thinks that perhaps she wanted to believe the lies. Perhaps Aegon only showed her what she wanted to see, but she chose not to question it. And doesn’t that make them both as foolish as the other?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you all think? Did you see Aegon's truth coming? What about Alysanne? How many of you predicted Aegon's lies? And who figured out the importance of the opal ring? Let me know below! And, does anyone have ideas what will happen in the final chapter? See you all soon!


	4. Fall | Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alysanne's future is sealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the final chapter of this story. It's been finished for a while, but I chose to wait until now to update. Tomorrow is my birthday, and I wanted to celebrate it with you all by finishing this story. I hope you enjoy it.

The whole of court rides north to the Isle of Faces. A royal wedding is an honor to attend, and only the most loyal are worthy of participating in the festivities. Only those in favor with the crown will see the Crown Prince wed Princess Alysanne. The High Septon travels with the Most Devout and the Northern lords travel south to witness the Northern princess wed.

At the same time, Alysanne travels in a wheelhouse with Daenerys and her southern ladies, but it is not the same. Was she right when she wondered if they were spies? Can she trust them at all?

Daenaera seems to sense Alysanne’s mistrust, as does Daenerys. Daenaera seems more cautious than before, more reluctant to speak, hesitant in a way she was not before. Daenerys, however, seems to speak more to fill the awkward silence, causing even more discomfort in the cramped wheelhouse. It is while the three bathe together at Maidenpool that Daenaera finally confronts Alysanne.

“I know you do not trust us anymore. But I feel I should inform you that His Grace did not ask me anything about you, nor did he tell me to do anything at all. Everything I have said to you has been my truth.”

Daenerys begins to flush, “I feel like a fool. Egg told me I was not to tell anyone you were with us-”

“He admitted that to me, yes,” Alysanne sighs and then leans back, the steaming herbal waters of the bath relaxing her rage, “If we are to be family there can be no more lies. Family is the one thing we will have in this world as Targaryens. We only have each other.”

Daenaera nods, “I swear it! We will be family, and I only pray that I can repair the damage that I did to our sisterhood, Alysanne.”

“Just so,” Daenerys says, “I can even kick Egg in the knee, if you would like. When we were young, I used to trip him if we raced because he never let me win.”

Alysanne lets out an unladylike snort and then hugs both of her closest friends. If she is to wed a liar – _stop. You mustn’t think that way – for your own happiness! –_ then she must make the best of it.

The next day the wheelhouse is far more cheerful and Alysanne dreads her wedding just a bit less. If only her relationship with Aegon was as simple to repair as her friendships with Daenaera and Daenerys. If only he had not lied to her. If only things were not the way they were.

As they travel toward the Isle of Faces, Aegon speaks to her at meal times. He tells her of the past, of all the times he thought of her before he knew she was real. And he tells of her of his mistakes, of all the things he did wrong in their relationship. Alysanne doesn’t know what to make of it. Does he truly feel guilty? Or is it another plot to win her trust? Will she ever know what is real and what is not?

It is different this time, as the lightning bugs die, and the grass begins to thin. Aegon is exposed. He shows her the parts of him he kept secret – the places that are dark and terrible; the places that even he did not want to see. She had already known the worst he could be, and the best. Now she knows somewhere in between. The parts of him that see no light.

This Aegon is _her_ Aegon. He is imperfect. He is dark and light, and warm and cold. He is only the sum of his parts; nothing more, nothing less.

The Isle of Faces is not what she had imagined during the long days in her wheelhouse. The air is far more humid, the trees unnaturally tall, with spidery limbs that seem to interlock so that it is impossible to see where one tree ends and another begins. The trees are like a thicket, so close that they blot out the light until it is nearly always night beneath their branches. The leaves are as red as the ones at Winterfell, and the bark aged a fine papery white. The faces cut into the trunks are bleeding when they arrive, thick sap coagulating at the roots creating a tarlike pool of red where the northerners must kneel.

It is not the look of the weirwood that has her so on edge. The air is so thick, and the paths so winding that it is easy to lose one’s way. She feels as though she is being watched. It is not the curious eye of courtiers, but the scrutinizing gaze of the trees that makes her hair stand on end. Alysanne thinks that perhaps it is the feeling of the Gods.

One thing Alysanne knows, there is nothing romantic about the Isle of Faces, and she struggles to understand why her parents had once said their own vows in the shadow of the trees.

They wed at dusk on the final day of Summer. The air is still warm, but the gnats are no longer biting, and the air is beginning to dry. Her maiden cloak is finished with haste, as both she and her ladies speedily embroider a beautiful gown and cloak.

Her gown is similar to the one that Daenaera had sewn for the Spring Festival. It is red silk with a layer of sheer white gossamer, embroidered with a brocade of golden floral motifs. It is backless, with a high, square neckline in the front. It is one of the most beautiful gowns she has ever handled.

When she walks towards the weirwood tree, arm around her uncle it takes everything within her not to falter. Can she truly live a happy life with Aegon? Without trust?

“The ink is dry,” she whispers to herself, so low that no one might hear.

“Say the word, Alys, and I will take you from this place,” her uncle says but she simply shakes her head.

“I love him,” and it is the truth, because she does love him. But she wonders if love is enough to keep them together, to keep them happy.

Ned’s face falls and he speaks ominously, “Love is sweet, dearest Alysanne, but it cannot change a man’s nature.”

Alysanne inhales and it seems that when she releases her breath she is married by all laws of Gods and men.

“All hail, Prince Aegon of Dragonstone and his wife, Princess Alysanne of Dragonstone.”

She is a princess of the blood no longer, but a princess with a crown. One day, she will be Queen. One day, she will birth kings.

When they make love this time, it is not like before. The first time had been awkward, sweet, but both had fumbled. This time, Aegon is meticulous, slow, _precise_. Alysanne is glad that their first time together was not watched by a Septon, was not confirmed by a man who had no business seeing her nudity.

“One night is not enough,” she cries as day breaks and they begin to dress.

“It must be until Spring comes,” Aegon soothes, though the pain in his voice is evident, “I like it no more than you, but this is our Lord Father’s command.”

Alysanne sniffles quietly and allows Aegon to give her a soft kiss, “We are parting before our marriage has even begun.” Secretly she is afraid. Will the time that they spend apart undo all the work they have done to repair their relationship? Will he stay true while she is in the north? Can she even bear to leave him for six turns?

They walk slowly to the tent that connects north and south and Alysanne is trying so very hard not to cry.

“I will miss you. I love you.”

“I know, my love. I will think of you every day,” he whispers and holds her close. He tries to ignore the deathlike glare of Lord Stark to enjoy the last few moments he has with his wife. “I love you, Alysanne. And I will work to be the man you deserve.”

Ned begins to pull Alysanne away and she locks eyes with Aegon as her uncle leads her towards the tent. The tears fall freely from her eyes, and continue still as her ladies maids strip her down and replace the fine silks for practical wool and fur.

“We will write down all the things that happen to share with you when you come back to us,” Daenerys says, “And when you do come back to us, we will celebrate for days. We can go to the Spring Festival together, and help Daenaera make her gown for her wedding to Viserys.”

“Perhaps we can meet your friends,” Alarra says with a bright smile, “and write them.”

“We will wear our friendship bracelets every day!” Elissa says sweetly, “And think of you.”

Jeyne sniffles and then says, “It will not be the same here, without you.”

At that moment the girls exchange hugs and farewells and Alysanne is choking on the knot in her throat.

She brings nothing from the south to the north except for a single Kingsguard. Ser Jaime has watched her tears from the moment she awoke on Dragonstone until the moment she is to cross the neck. He has a look in his eyes that Alysanne cannot place.

“What am I to do, Ser Jaime?” Alysanne whispers. Her ladies are gone and Aegon is on the other side of the makeshift crossing between the North and South, a single long tent with a flap between. Just beyond the fabric wall in front of her is the north.

“I do not know, Your Grace,” Ser Jaime says honestly, “But I understand your pain.”

Alysanne blinks and Jaime smiles sadly, “Cersei and I have shared everything together until she married, and I became a Kingsguard. We were brought into the world together, and yet I have not seen her in so long I would forget her face if it were not also my own.”

Alysanne blinks back tears and hugs Jaime fiercely, “And now you may not even write her because you are coming North with me.” Her voice drops with guilt but Jaime smiles.

“I chose to join you, Your Grace. I wanted to watch over you and I do not regret that decision at all.”

Alysanne takes a deep breath and watches as the tent flaps in the winds that have begun to gather.

“How am I to do this, Ser Jaime? How do I leave my husband behind?”

“You take a single step at a time, Your Grace. I will be behind you each step of the way.”

She steps through the tent in her Northern garb and is greeted with hugs from her first friends.

“We missed you,” Myha says, “We are so glad to have you back-”

“Wait until you hear what my oaf of a brother did this time-”

“I have been betrothed to Lord Reed’s son-”

But Alysanne is still sniffling as her friends guide her into the wheelhouse. As soon as she is out of sight she bursts into tears and Alys hugs her fiercely.

“You love him.” It is a statement, and not a question and Alysanne cries even harder.

“With all of my being.”

“Oh Alys,” Wynafryd sighs, “I know we are no replacement for the Prince, but we love you too.”

“I know!” cries Alysanne miserably, “I should not cry but I will not see my husband for six turns of each year and-” She falls into a mess of hiccups and deep breaths.

They hold her for the entire journey north. At Winterfell, her family is waiting in the courtyard with bated breath.

“Alysanne, the Princess of Dragonstone,” the herald announces as she leaves her carriage. Princess of Dragonstone. No longer is she simply Princess Alysanne, a princess of the blood. She is different now. And Winterfell is different too.

It feels cold, and Alysanne cannot understand why until she realizes that Winterfell is no longer home.

They try to give her comfort, to hold her close and cherish her while she embraces the flurries of winter. Everyone is different, now. Or perhaps, she is different. Robb looks at her differently, with a gleam in his eye that she cannot place, as though he is trying to understand a complex puzzle. Sansa is growing, head full of stories of knights now, and not princes. Arya is still underfoot, but now she wears trousers when her mother cannot see. Bran’s gaze is calculated, while he spends his days under a weirwood tree, no longer interested in becoming a southern knight.

Rickon is the only one who remains unchanged, a toddler who clings to her whenever he has the chance.

She barely speaks to her uncle. He invites her to break her fast each morning, and each morning she declines.

“I have decided that I am under the weather,” she says to Ser Jaime, who passes on the phrase he has heard from her many times.

Her only interaction on many days is with her maid who empties the sick in her chamber pot. The days shorten and her waist grows. It is true, she realizes, that those who declare love at the Spring festival are blessed with fertility for a year and a day, and so her ladies begin to sew her wider gowns and soft baby blankets.

This is the first time she truly fights with her uncle, “Please – he does not know and-”

“I did not meet Robb until I returned to Winterfell after the rebellion,” Ned says gruffly and Alysanne sobs.

“But you knew – _you knew_ you had a child coming, and that you had a son. Aegon does not know-”

“It is winter, and you reside at Winterfell. Your husband will be made aware of your condition when you cross the Neck and not a moment earlier.”

“This is not fair!” Alysanne shouts, face turning red in anger, “I should not be here. I have loved the north and will always love the north. But you cannot keep me from my husband. I should be able to make my own decisions, and I would decide to stay with Aegon! I would decide to allow my child a father!”

Ned’s face is impassive, “The King’s decision is final, and you should thank him. If it were up to me, the marriage would be annulled, and you would never pass the Neck again.”

Alysanne veers back as though slapped and holds in sobs that are ready to fall from her throat, “Fine. But know this, uncle. You lost me the moment I left Aegon’s arms.”

They fall into a tense silence. Her uncle wants to hold onto her, this Alysanne knows. And when her uncle Benjen pays a visit he says as much. But Alysanne cannot forgive him. Forgiveness, she thinks, is something she has given too freely. She used the last of it on Aegon, and has none left to spare. She is as cold to Eddard Stark as the winter winds.

She watches the seasons change from her window, as the snow becomes heavier and heavier and the shortest day of winter finally passes. It is strange. Alysanne has no memory of being cold in Winterfell, no memory of needing warmth. Until now.

Alysanne barely speaks to her uncle, bitter and angry that he will allow no communication between Alysanne and the father of her child. She sits in the cold, thinking about her possible future.

She wonders if she will share the same fate as her mother, whether these long turns in the North could be the last moments of her life, and without Aegon. Her heart grows colder and colder and the only light in her despair comes when the child within her moves.

“Your papa loves you, just as I love you,” she whispers, “Even if he does not yet know you as I know you.”

This should be their time together, she mourns. They should feel their child’s first kicks in her womb, and watch the changes that spread across her body and rejoice. The bells should ring that a child is nigh. They should feast, and celebrate, and unite as a family.

She loves the north, it is true, but she counts each moment that passes in anticipation. She needs to see Aegon again. Perhaps she would not feel so lonely if only he could write to her. If only she could write Daenerys and Daenaera. If only she could read the giggly words of Alarra and Elissa and the rambles of Jeyne. Then perhaps she would not miss them so much. But it is forbidden. Aegon is not to contact her while she is in the North, just as her uncle is not to contact her while she is in the South. She is to lead two separate lives and it frightens her.

What will happen when the child is born? Will her uncle accept a child’s presence for six turns a year? Will Aegon even allow his future heir to leave the safety of Dragonstone? Is she to leave her child behind? There is too much uncertainty, too much chaos.

Sooner than is polite, her trunks are packed for her journey and soon she is entering the wheelhouse. Sansa and Arya join her, and Robb kisses her cheek. She ignores her uncle for the entire ride to the Neck, much to his despair.

* * *

 

Alysanne’s stomach is in knots as Jory Cassel helps her from the wheelhouse. Lyra watches her closely, helping her into the tent that Alysanne has been aching to see since she saw it last. Here, in the Neck, on the other side of the river, her husband is waiting. Her friends are waiting.

“You are too nervous, Princess,” Alys says, “His Grace is as excited to see you as you are him. I am sure of it.”

Alysanne’s fears are clear to her ladies. She fears Aegon’s love is fickle, that he chose a new lover while his wife was away. They had but a night together before they were pulled apart. And before that, they never truly moved past the lies that built the foundation of their relationship.

She refuses to be unhappy, refuses to be angry at Aegon if only because her future depends on it. She embraces the deception of the south as she sheds the furs and wools of the north.

The silks are smooth on her skin, and sooth her from the humidity in the Neck. She glides across the tent and Uncle Ned stops behind her as she crosses into the South. His face is in a grim line, as though he holds no joy in returning Alysanne to her husband.

A party is waiting for her on the other side of the river. Dozens of horses with knights upon their backs, an entourage of servants, and the Prince of Dragonstone himself stand proudly before her. The chatter is silenced, for the Princess of Dragonstone has finally come South again.

Aegon is the first to shake his shock and dismount his horse. He near runs to her and he presses a deep kiss to her lips before setting his hand on her swollen middle.

“Curse our father and your uncle for keeping you from me.” He whispers so low that no one can hear and kisses her ear, “You carried this burden alone. We would have celebrated – a new heir-”

“The ink is dry,” Alysanne replies having wept too many times to cry again, “What is done is done. Take me home.”

And he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are folks. It's finished! Did it end how you thought? What about Aegon? Ned? The future? Comment below!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed the first installment of this short series! Stay tuned for the next installment.


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